The Dumb Maid:
OR,
The Young Gallant trappand!
A Young Man did unto her a Wooing come,
But she pretended much that she was Dumb,
But when they both in Marriage-bands were tyd;
The Doctors Skill was likewise with her tryd,
The Doctor he set her Tongue on the Run,
She Chatters now, and never will have done.
To a new tune calld, Dum, dum, dum.
OR, I would I were in my own Countrey.
|
ALL you that pass along,
|
Give ear unto my Song,
|
Concerning a Youth
|
that was young, young, young:
|
And of a Maiden fair,
|
Few with her might compare,
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was Dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
She was beautious, fresh, and gay,
|
Like the pleasant flowers in May,
|
And her Cheeks was as round
|
as a Plum, plum, plum:
|
She was neat in every part,
|
And she stole away his heart,
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
At length this Country Blade,
|
Wedded this pretty Maid,
|
And he kindly Conducted
|
her home, home, home:
|
Thus in her Beauty bright,
|
Lay all his whole Delight,
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb:
|
Now will I plainly show
|
What work this Maid could do,
|
Which a pattern may be,
|
for girls young, young, young:
|
O she both day and night,
|
In working took delight,
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
She could Brew and she could bake,
|
She could wash, wring, and shake,
|
She could sweep the House,
|
with a Broom, broom, broom:
|
She could Knit, and Sow, & Spin,
|
And do any such like thing,
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
But at last this man did go,
|
The Doctors skill to know,
|
Saying Sir can you cure
|
a We[m]an of the Dumb?
|
O it is the easiest part,
|
That belongs unto my art,
|
For to Cure a Woman,
|
of the dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
To the Doctor he did her bring,
|
And he cut her chatering string,
|
And he set her Tongue on
|
the run, run, run:
|
In the morning he did rise,
|
And she filld his house with cries,
|
And she rattled in his ears
|
Like a drum, drum, drum.
|
To the Doctor he did go,
|
with his heart well filld with woe,
|
Crying Doctor I am
|
undone, done, done:
|
Now shes turnd a scolding Wife,
|
And I am weary of my Life,
|
Nor I cannot make her hold,
|
Her tongue, tongue tongue.
|
The Doctor thus did say;
|
When she went from me away,
|
She was perfectly Cured of
|
the dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
But its beyond the Art of man,
|
Let him do best he can,
|
For to make a scolding Woman
|
Hold her tongue, tongue, tongue,
|
So as you to me came,
|
Return you back again,
|
And take you the Oyl,
|
of Hazel strong:
|
With it anoint her body round.
|
when she makes the house to sound,
|
So perhaps you may charm
|
tongue, tongue, tongue,
|
|
|
|
|
|